Chapter 143

Reunion

After two days of relentless bombardment from cannons and trebuchets, Winterband's soldiers had suffered dozens of casualties.

Among the civilians who had taken refuge within the inner fortress, the death toll had easily exceeded a hundred.

Some of the dead had been burned alive by flaming tar and oil barrels.

Others had been crushed or blown apart by boulders and cannonballs.

Yet most of the casualties came from a mysterious smoke.

The liquid contained within the jars carried by the netted bundles.

When the jars shattered upon impact, they released a thick white haze.

The soldiers and civilians who inhaled it lost their reason and turned swords, axes, clubs, and stones against one another.

"Die! Die! Die!"

They fought desperately to tear out each other's throats.

Death was inevitable in war.

But no one had expected it to come at the hands of comrades.

Or neighbors.

Or siblings.

Or parents and children.

Even so, most of Winterband's soldiers did not regard it as a tragedy.

Nor did they rage against it or despair over it.

These were people who had spent their lives fighting magical beasts amidst murderous cold.

Most of them were already half insane.

It was not a place where one could survive while remaining completely sane.

This was a land where it was considered normal to find the comrade who had fought beside you yesterday reduced to pieces of meat today, sweep the remains into a sack, and throw them into the crematory.

More than half of Winterband's population consisted of immigrants, vagabonds, criminals, and exiles.

Conflicts born from differing interests, cultures, and values frequently escalated into bloodshed.

As a result, for Berkheim and his squad, today was no different from any other day.

The Count still stood atop the outer walls, displaying the might of a 5th-Class mage as he unleashed magic upon the magical beasts.

The soldiers on duty killed both beasts and the civilians and soldiers who had lost their sanity.

Chaos was chaos.

Humans killed beasts.

Beasts killed humans.

Humans killed humans.

"Looks like the usual Winterband."

Berkheim offered his assessment.

"It's a little refreshing, though. The Baron looks like a demon to me."

"Really? He looks like a horned monster to me."

None of Berkheim's squad had been affected by the madness.

More accurately, they had inhaled the smoke and remained perfectly sane.

These were people who had spent years facing the terror of endless beast attacks.

The longer one stayed here, the deeper the fear rooted itself in the heart.

A hallucination induced by smoke could hardly change much.

"What the hell is this smoke? Turns out breathing it in was supposed to screw us up?"

"Shit, then aren't we already screwed?"

"What's there to worry about? Ever since those Botmer bastards attacked, overtime was guaranteed anyway."

"Then just kill whoever attacks first. Feels kind of bad if we're the ones killing each other."

"Is that you, Baron? Your voice sounds the same at least. Understood!"

"Yes, Baron. Orders received!"

Berkheim's squad answered cheerfully.

And it wasn't just his squad.

Most of Winterband's units were much the same.

They mercilessly cut down civilians and soldiers who had lost their minds and attacked others.

Occasionally, they killed perfectly sane soldiers by mistake.

It was considered a minor problem.

"These lunatics..."

The old druid muttered in disbelief, the whites of his eyes fully exposed.

"What's happening, Melgara?"

Baron Botmer asked.

Standing before a broad stone slab, the druid Melgara was sharing the senses of a red kite and observing Winterband from above.

"T-They're just killing everything. Without hesitation."

"Good."

"No. I mean literally everything. Beasts, civilians, soldiers. It's pure hell."

"Spare me your impressions. Just answer what I ask. How many defenders remain on the walls?"

"I can't see clearly because of the smoke, but almost everyone who was on the walls appears to be dead."

"And the gate?"

"It's empty."

"Waller, tell Baron Ripe to advance."

The Baron issued the order to the knight standing nearby.

"Yes, Father. Shall I also carry out what you instructed earlier?"

The knight asked.

The Baron considered for a moment.

Then nodded.

"Proceed."

"Understood."

"Waller."

The Baron called out as the knight turned toward the center of the camp.

"Yes?"

"Don't die. You are my son as well."

"Yes, Father."

Waller bowed and departed.

"That's enough, Druid. I've learned everything I needed."

"...Haa."

Melgara let out a deep sigh.

The pupils had returned to her eyes.

Bloody tears trickled from the corners.

She had pushed herself too hard at the Baron's command.

Sharing senses with an animal went far beyond simple communion.

It meant forcing two entirely different souls to overlap.

The strain was immense.

And she had spent nearly half a day relaying everything happening in Winterband.

She felt ready to collapse.

Yet the Baron still had one more question.

"Melgara. What you told me before. You're certain of it?"

"What?"

"The prophecy. You're sure?"

"...I told you exactly what I saw. You were standing in the plaza of a great city. Everyone was looking up at you. You stood above them all, receiving their gazes—filled with fear and awe."

"Yes. That. You're certain your prophecies have never been wrong?"

"In my entire life, I've seen visions like that only three times. They never came true exactly as I saw them, but they were never wrong."

"That's enough for me."

"The more I see of you, the stranger you become. You're acquainted with priests of both the Old Faith and the New Faith, and with shamans as well. Yet you still put your trust in a fortune told by me."

"I trust whatever benefits me, Druid. Even if it comes from a foul-smelling and miserable old woman."

"...If you're finished, then leave. I need some rest."

"I'll be relying on you again tomorrow."

Melgara merely nodded and walked away.

The Baron watched the druid's shabby figure recede into the distance.

The biting wind violently tousled his hair.

Yet the Baron found the wind refreshing.

Everything was becoming a favorable wind blowing in his direction.

The collapse of the kingdom was inevitable.

When a new order rose from the ruins, House Botmer would stand at its center.

And Klaus would no longer revive merely as Baron Botmer.

His original family would rise again.

And Klaus himself would finally reclaim a new name of his own.

"It took a long time, Father."

The Baron gazed up at the overcast sky.

For the first time in a long while, he allowed himself to indulge in sentiment.

The sense of foreboding sprouting within his heart was probably nothing more than the anxiety of an old man.

The Granak warriors who had emerged from the Black Forest numbered around three hundred.

The Black Forest stretching from Oton's territory was far more rugged than the forests near Vinfelt, and its mana density was significantly higher.

In other words, far more powerful magical beasts inhabited it.

Yet not a single Granak warrior had become a casualty.

A few were covered in blue blood, but their expressions were as hard as steel.

Rather than suffering losses, they had butchered the beasts they killed on the spot, draping themselves in fresh hides and carrying away the meat.

From a distance, it almost looked as if several giant magical beasts were marching among the warriors.

Every single warrior was as large as Besimer, and many were even bigger.

Gender made no difference.

At last, Isaac understood how Asra could be so enormous despite her age.

Among the Granak, it was perfectly normal.

The truly unusual sight was Adele approaching him.

She possessed the same build as an ordinary woman of the kingdom and looked even smaller standing among the warriors.

Yet not a single warrior looked down upon her.

Two of the strongest aura users among the Granak followed three paces behind her as though serving as her personal guards.

Isaac dismounted from his Hellwolf and slowly walked toward Adele.

Countless worries and concerns passed through his mind.

Adele's smile looked as warm as ever, but he could not tell whether it was truly directed at him.

Recently, they had chatted endlessly whenever they found time through the long-distance communication device.

But hearing someone's voice and meeting them in person were entirely different things.

Would she recognize how much he had changed?

What if she no longer thought the same way he did?

Would a soul that had lived for more than a hundred years still see her as family?

Would the identity shaped by decades of absence still regard her as his mother?

Did she secretly resent him?

Was it truly right to involve her in this war?

With every step, countless thoughts flashed through his mind.

All of them meaningless.

"Isaac!"

A single embrace was enough.

Adele pulled her son tightly against her chest.

"...Ah."

Isaac's hands wandered aimlessly.

He no longer cared what his hands were doing or where his feet stood.

In that moment, memories buried beneath the years came flooding back with vivid clarity.

The embrace in which he had fallen asleep feeling the cool spring breeze.

The arms that held him whenever fever wracked his body.

The embrace that never let go, even during a mana explosion.

A very long time ago.

The entire world that had once belonged to Isaac.

A world that had wrapped itself around him and protected him.

Compared to the infinite world of magic, it was unimaginably small—

yet warmer than anything magic could ever replace.

"...Mother."

At last, Isaac's arms wrapped around Adele.

Small, rough, calloused hands stroked his back.

I'm getting sentimental in my old age.

Isaac barely suppressed the surge of emotion rising in his chest.

"I missed you, my son."

Adele stepped back and looked at his face.

Her scarred hand brushed across his forehead, the corners of his eyes, his cheeks, and finally his chin.

"You've grown so much in just one year."

Adele smiled.

"When did you get this big? You're all grown up now. You look exactly like Helmut when he was young. So that's why Jonas kept saying his big brother had changed so much."

She continued stroking his hair.

"You're not hurt anywhere, are you?"

"No."

"Before a war, you shouldn't neglect even the smallest wound."

"I know."

"And are you eating properly? You look a little thin for your height."

The ordinary conversation between mother and son continued.

"If I knew how to cook, I'd at least make you a meal. It's a shame Gisela isn't here."

"You can't exactly bring a nanny into the middle of a war."

"How is Hans? He's a father now, so I worry about him."

"He marched out ahead of us. We'll be joining him soon."

The small talk naturally shifted toward the war.

"I'm surprised you managed to gather so many warriors."

When they had spoken through the long-distance communication device, Asra had explained that her opinion was not necessarily the opinion of all Granak.

Unless the issue directly concerned the survival of the tribe, the various clans within the greater Granak tribe often held differing views.

Passing Mulleorn's Trial had only proven that Isaac was recognized as a Great Warrior of Granak.

That he was one of them.

That he was the son of Adele, daughter of Brynskar and Asra Valdrun.

Because the various Granak clans viewed Isaac, Vinfelt, and Goethe differently, Asra had said it would be difficult to gather all of them under one banner.

Considering that conversation, the appearance of three hundred warriors far exceeded Isaac's expectations.

Among the Granak, a warrior was an aura user.

Each and every one.

Individuals who had survived since birth by eating the flesh of magical beasts.

Mana flowed through their blood almost as freely as it did through the beasts they hunted.

They had mastered aura as naturally as breathing.

Each one possessed enough combat power to defeat dozens of ordinary soldiers alone.

They're even more incredible seeing them in person than reading about them in books.

Aside from Adele, every Granak warrior looked exactly as Isaac had imagined.

Humans with the blood of magical beasts.

Or perhaps yetis.

Or something else entirely.

In the future, more radical magical scholars would refer to them as Demonkin.

"They haven't fully decided to join us yet."

Isaac tilted his head.

"What do you mean?"

"Half of them came here out of curiosity."

"...What?"

"My son, try to understand your mother."

"...?"

"Brother!"

Besimer's shout echoed from the distance.

At the same moment, a flash of light split the air.

A crow flying overhead was cut clean in half and fell to the ground.

"...I understand now."

Isaac blocked Adele's sword strike.

His wrist bent painfully.

His blade split halfway through.

His body trembled from the backlash of forcing his aura to surge in an instant.

But he had blocked it.

There are only a handful in the kingdom who can defeat Adele with a sword.

His father's words suddenly resurfaced in his mind.

You never said she was this strong.

The eyes of the Granak warriors fixed upon the twelve-year-old boy.

Some exhaled sharply.

Others bared their fangs.

Some twitched their cheeks.

Each expressed interest in their own way.

The young warrior had just blocked the strike of one of their strongest warriors.